A micro-memoir about a photograph, a stranger’s assumption, and the moment you realize someone else has already decided who you are.
An excerpt from The Space Between. Originally published in HerStry and republished in 2025 in Write Forward: A Constellation of Voice.
Excerpt:
Without looking at me, the man inched his stool behind the glass counter toward his studio corner, picking up the stack of newspapers and dropping it to the floor.
“So where are you from?”
“Singapore,” I said, feeling my feet press into the store’s musty carpet. I knew the question well.
“Hmm … Singapore,” he echoed.
The man surveyed the continents on his world map, picked up a red push pin and stuck it on an island one degree north of the Equator. The map was mostly clear of pins except for a splash of red plastic in the continents of Asia and Africa.
Is he mapping me? Am I a point on the map for him?
He motioned me to sit on the barstool. I walked to the stool, on command, and climbed on the vinyl seat, my legs dangling four inches off the ground.
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